Porphyria
by HeathenVampires
Summary: AU Adam!Vlad. He stares a lot. At his hands, the walls, the ceilings. There isn't a whole lot else to do, when you're locked up for murder. (One-shot/hiatus?)


**I've been meaning to write this for ages, but kept forgetting.**

 **Kind of dark themed - blood, illness and the like. No pairing intended as of yet, but that could change if it ends up being a story. Right now, it's meant to be a one shot. And it's not meant to make too much sense.**

 **By now you should know the drill but for anyone new here - Adam!Vlad is Vlad not getting adopted by the Count, raised human by Sally with George.**

-YD-

"Visitors!"

Adam looked up from his intense staring at his hands, picturing how they would look coated in the orderly staff members blood. Was it that time again already? Pretending to smooth down his bland institute-issue outfit, he stepped into the even less exciting shoes - all sealed with glue, soft materials, nothing that could dare risk anyone being injured. Like Adam would do such a thing.

He was seventeen now, and this box with no windows, one door that sealed like a panic room, it had been his home for a little over a year, since just before he turned sixteen. It was decided he was mentally ill, the allergy to sunlight a sudden onset only days after he was locked up for murder. They mumbled words like "vampire disease" and "madness of King George", but there was a name for his disease apparently - porphyria.

He barely remembered the event itself, knowing for a while something inside him wasn't right. He became short tempered, aggressive. Couldn't stand anything overcooked, to the point he was found eating a raw steak by his step-father at 4 in the morning. Of course, he hadn't known at the time it was his stepfather, that little revelation had only come out when this... diagnosis had. It was genetic, and neither his mother nor her husband carried the defect.

That wasn't what got him in trouble. Nor were the dreams, constantly filled with the desperate images of tearing the throats out of perfect strangers and indulging in their blood. It was when he actually did it, that was what got him here.

If he hadn't started screaming in the sunlight, he wouldn't even be in this asylum type room - he would be in jail. But apparently slicing open the chest of a man with a kitchen knife, a man with a wife and two children, was practically excusable with his 'disease'. It had been a harsh lesson in his humanity, at least biologically, when he sealed his mouth to the bloodied mess and _drank,_ sating some need inside him. Until he threw up, because humans couldn't digest blood.

Realising he had gotten lost inside his head again, Adam followed the bored-looking man out to the visiting room. It wasn't inviting, not even with the pretty pictures the man with the mind of a five year old drew, or the sculptures the ones who could be trusted near sharp objects made. Though Adam put it down to the six inches of plate glass between him and _them._

He couldn't find remorse in himself for what he had done, because he scarcely remembered anything before it. The one thing he did remember, currently anxiously bouncing next to the unhappy adult woman who had birthed them both, was his little sister.

Georgina Giles was the only person Adam remembered caring for - he remembered his mother, but her lies had led him here, because if she had known the man from the drunken fuck better, if he had known he was fifty percent stranger, they might have wondered if it was more than just puberty when he started "going off the rails". Sally Giles was only there because George was, because George had fought for almost a year to be able to see Adam - in all his institutionalised, plate-glass glory.

They could only speak through those annoying telephones, but George would always place her little hand on the glass, and Adam would lift his to cover it, just to see her smile for him. He cared nothing for the world outside anymore, but he missed that girl painfully.

"They said you're on new medication again. Is it better?"

He didn't baby talk to her, she was smart and had probably read more books on porphyria than anyone by now.

"Not really. But it takes a while to be sure, that's why they only changed it recently. It's not as bad to begin with as before, I don't get headaches now."

All too soon, their one hour a week was up, and she was led away again. He hadn't even **seen** his step-father since that whole sentencing thing, but Adam didn't care - he wasn't family to him anymore, had been the reason George wasn't allowed to visit until the brave curls threatened to go to court if she had to.

Thirteen years old and more terrifying than the prospect of never leaving this place, Adam wasn't sure there was a process for "my murdering brother is locked up and my parents won't let me see him" in the law, but even so, it had thawed them just enough to allow this - sixty minutes a week where Adam was a person again.

He wasn't even allowed in the 'day room' this month without heavy sedatives, which he never took because they made the world foggy. He should feel bad for it, he mused - Jonathan Van Helsing was as mad as all of them, and he wasn't the first person to refer to Adam as 'Dracula' or 'vampire', but he had worn on the thin control for too long, finally snapping Adam's tenuous grip on sanity. He could probably have played it as a suicide attempt if they hadn't been found, the frail skin of his wrist tearing between Adam's teeth until hot, rich blood full of fear filled his mouth.

That wasn't even the first time he had gotten in trouble for 'drinking', but the last boy, Robin, had liked it. Used to sneak art scalpels from the creativity room and cut his wrist, eyes wide with fascination as Adam sucked the cuts. Robin had to be moved, their facility wasn't designed for the "recurrent suicidal ideations" they blamed it on - Adam personally thought the boy just liked vampires, he didn't even cut himself unless it was with Adam.

Jonathon had been moved too, but only to the hospital wing - Adam had gotten overzealous holding him down and cracked a few ribs. They would probably transfer him to another ward, because he saw vampires everywhere and Adam drinking his blood until he threw up wouldn't have helped.

That was the most annoying thing - it made him sick. His body craved it, he dreamt of it constantly, the wet warmth all around him, sliding neatly down his throat and running in torrents down his chin like a juicy fruit. But whenever he managed to satisfy the urge, he could only swallow a small amount at a time before his stomach rebelled and he would vomit it all back up.

They shoved food in front of him, special plastic trays and cutlery that couldn't break to make little weapons, soft mush that didn't require knives. Adam rarely ate, everything tasted of sawdust and they wouldn't let him have any rare meat, let alone raw. They were sometimes at a loss as to why he wasn't dead from starvation, because he was skinny but not lethargic, not even when they pumped him full of pills.

The therapist, Dr Seward, knew nothing. Kept encouraging Adam to talk about the dark things in his mind, but after the first time he tried it - and ended up in isolation, padded restraints on his wrists and ankles, the belts over his chest and stomach - he had stopped, not wanting to end up in an even more secure place or on stronger medication. Nor could he risk them deciding he wasn't allowed to see George - anything but that.

A wonderfully awkward, silent half hour later, he was escorted back to the box with no windows, the secure door sliding closed. A fresh set of plain white, boring clothes was waiting. It was laundry day again? He didn't notice, and wasn't allowed to request a different colour in case he was trying to hide blood stains. Like that was possible. He had tried drinking his own once or twice, but whether it was the tablets or because it was his own, his blood tasted bitter, almost... off. It amused him whenever he thought about it, something rotten inside his very blood.

The days blurred past in a haze of vacant staring at the air con vent, nine feet above his head when he was standing - Adam was short for a near-adult, barely 5 and a half feet. George was already his height when they stood either side of the glass. Then it was his weekly check up, height and weight and that was all now. They used to take his blood pressure and pulse, but Adam was sick of them fiddling with his blood when they were denying him treatment.

Because he knew they could treat porphyria with special transfusions, but they refused, said he wasn't stable enough. Aside from the attacks, he considered himself a model patient. And a side effect of untreated porphyria was madness, delusions. He had very few other symptoms though. His skin burned but didn't blister in the sun, and he wasn't sick with the sluggish liver function. His skin didn't dry out. He did have terrible thoughts in his mind, but everyone.

Jonathon saw vampires, had almost killed some goth boy with a huge wooden stake. Ryan had killed a girl and _eaten_ some of her body, but it turned out he had bats in the belfry and joined them at the five star hotel for loonies. Paul was convinced everyone was an alien, walked around everywhere with tin foil hats and had attacked multiple random people in the streets screaming about E.T. Then there was Robin - he was just... fragile in the head.

Adam never found out what had specifically landed him there before he moved, but then their relationship had never been vocal, unless he counted the soft whimpers Robin made whenever Adam had latched on to his wrist.

George didn't visit that week, because she was sick.

"Not as sick as me though, right?"

He didn't even look, because when he looked at the orderly, he wanted to hurt them. He didn't know why, but the smell of blood seemed to emanate from the man and it ramped every dark urge to cut and bite and drink and _kill_ up to maximum. He had requested a new one, and been honest about why, but they just thought he was mad. Naturally.

The next measure of time he had was being allowed out into the day room - with supervision obviously - and he realised he had lost track of near the whole month. There was a new resident, with scars on his cheek and a hugely exaggerated startle reflex.

"Adam, this is Mark. Mark, this is Adam. Play nice."

The boy shuffled tighter against the wall, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Adam left him alone, he didn't smell appetizing at all. The day room wasn't that exciting, except there was a tv that played noise to break the monotony of their days. Everything was stark white, blurring and blending into each other.

Paul got to wear blue, because apparently it kept away the aliens. Ryan got to wear black, because he was allowed to paint and it washed out much easier.

"What's the story bat boy? Is the new one tasty?"

He shook his head, watching the pulse flutter beneath Ryan's wrist in morbid fascination. They were used to it, knew Adam only attacked when angry. They had even once had Adam sniff all of them, ranking who smelt the best to him as a joke. The staff had grounded them all that day.

"How do you expect to get better if you don't talk?"

"How do you expect me to get better if you don't treat me?"

Dr Seward rolled her eyes, and they lapsed back to silence for his 'therapy' time. Then it was laundry day again, and then it was George visiting. It was the brightest break in the monotony of his life, because she smiled like he wasn't a killer, talked like he wasn't a monster. And looked as pained by their time running out as he was, even with Sally hovering as though Adam was about to break through the protective panelling and tear George's throat out. No matter what, Adam knew he would never hurt his baby sister.

He was even used to being watched in the bath by now, their confused looks as his baby face adamantly refused to grow a single hair towards a beard. Though in some ways, they were relieved as it meant they didn't have to let him have a razor. Drying himself off and climbing back into the white fabric that only made his pale skin look more washed out - he wasn't even allowed by the mirrors, because he could break them.

Adam had all but forgotten what he looked like, knowing he looked less and less like George as he had gotten older. For all he knew, he was the spitting image of his real father. His mother hadn't said, but she was drunk. She may not even remember who fucked her and passed on these genes that had made him 'bad'.

The medication stopped working, and the orderly barely survived. All Adam remembered was the rush of blood, the pathetic gurgles and the slowing pulse as he bit down harder until skin finally broke. Biology had a lot to answer for - the skin between him and the major blood vessels of the throat was barely even an inconvenience as he tasted salt and satisfaction.

As they strapped him down, shouting and waving needles full of fuzzy drugs near him, all Adam could think was how he was getting stronger - he had needed a knife to break skin before, but Jonathon and now that orderly had fallen to nothing but teeth. How strong was he?

Clenching his fist, he waited until they thought he was calming and _yanked._ There were sounds of surprise - including his own as the restraint snapped clean off, and then three staff members were holding down his other arm and an ice cold liquid seeped through his veins, stealing his consciousness.

When he came to, still in the blood stained clothes, there were new restraints on him. They weren't leather anymore, but metal, the padding barely enough to stop them cutting into his skin. And there were more staff members than usual for isolation, especially restrained isolation. He tugged at the metal lazily, but there was very little give in them. Ironically, that would make them easier to snap, less surface area for him to have to stretch to breaking point. Still, he would let them wonder for now.

"You know this, Adam. We told you if there were any more incidents, you would be going elsewhere for more dangerous convicts."

He sighed, still a little hazy from the injection they had sedated him with.

"I told you, treat me properly and I wouldn't **have** to bite them."

There were hurried whispers, and the door opened and closed several times. Adam didn't struggle, too busy wondering if they were going to take George away from him for this.

"Alright. We'll try it your way, but this is your last chance Adam."

He would agree to anything right now as everything cleared, leaving him with the abdominal cramps from vomiting and the bitter taste of bile and blood left over.

"Fine. Can I brush my teeth and change? The smell is driving me batty."

There were three men within inches of him when they let him up, but he just cared about losing the acrid taste and getting clean clothes on.

It was two days before the transfusion things arrived, but he could _smell_ the need for them. He was told by the specialist doctor who was there to ensure Adam didn't have a reaction to them that they often used a central line for these things, a tube right into the heart, but Adam couldn't be trusted. He barely flinched when the needle went into the largest vein they could find - he had sluggish blood, they never showed up much.

The change was almost immediate. The cramps went away, his head cleared and he had less shakes, less rages. After a week, they even let him back out into the day room, and when he told George excitedly they were trying something new, she was almost as enthusiastic as he was. When they separated, as George left, he saw someone new, a girl. She was stood silently in the visitor area, but nobody else seemed to notice her. Which confused him - she was **gorgeous.** If you went for the whole pale goth thing.

He managed to sneak a look at the CCTV screen in the security pod, but the girl wasn't on the screen. When he peered back through the glass pane on the door, wrestling the nurse who tried to pull him away, she was gone. He asked around, but nobody seemed to have even _seen_ her, let alone know who it was. He didn't keep talking about it - he didn't need to give them more reason to think him mad.

They started weaning him off the other pills, the withdrawal effects mostly shakes and nightmares but that was nothing new. His next 'episode' was more violent, and the stray cat didn't make it. but they put it down to his withdrawal and he got away with it _again,_ but he was restrained for the transfusion treatment. It worked again, and Mark was released as 'stable' with Adam no more clued in to what brought him in.

It was over a month before he saw _her_ again, just watching quietly as the crazy boys spoke to their visitors.

"You killed a cat? Really?"

"I guess they weren't accounting . I don't exactly get much use of any outdoor privileges, sun allergy and all."

George actually laughed, and that **terrified** him. This should not be normal to her. She was all he cared about. When they had to leave, he memorized every second of the way she smiled at her big brother, how proud she was of him responding to treatment, and the way her little hand splayed opposite his as they said goodbye.

The door swung closed behind them, and he gritted his teeth.

"I don't want her allowed to visit anymore. I can't poison her."

He had to confirm it daily for the rest of the week, and he was a coward and refused to tell her himself but George didn't visit again. Without that to break up his days, weeks, months, Adam didn't know what was happening anymore. Time ceased to mean anything except laundry day, therapy and weight check. He was still underweight, shorter than the other boys but he didn't care. He thought it might have been a month or so, but wasn't sure, since he had last seen George.

"Oi, Giles. Visitor!"

Having been watching a spider crawl along the wall for what could have been hours, he looked over at the newest orderly - the replacement for the one Adam had attacked - in confusion.

"I don't have visitors anymore."

"You do now. I'd go. She's cute."

Mentally inventorying anyone he could vaguely remember as he put on the shoes, wearing thin with how much he paced lately, Adam followed to the visitor room. It wasn't George, or their mother. It was the strange goth girl he had seen a couple of times. Looking around to check there was nobody else he even slightly knew, he sat in front of her. If he wasn't mistaken, she looked bored already, and mildly confused when Adam picked up the phone questionably.

"I... Who are you?"

"Not important. For now at least. You need to do something, I don't have long to explain."

She made little sense, but then he remembered where he was - nothing made sense.

"Ok. Shoot."

The girl rolled her eyes, then pulled out a sheet of paper with a date and time on.

"That's a week from now, you don't look with it enough to know. Get your mother here for then."

"How do you -"

"Doesn't matter. I have to go. Just do it."

The girl pushed sunglasses on her face, then he had barely blinked before she was gone. Mostly convinced that was a bizarre hallucination, he went and asked for the staff to invite his mother and George back in a weeks time.

"I thought you didn't want her here."

"I don't, but I forgot how little my life means without her."

The nurse looked at him sadly, then noted down his request and he wasn't sure how much of it was real, resuming his mindless staring at the wall. The spider was gone, and now he looked properly, so was Ryan.

"Where's Noble gone?"

Paul, part way through making a new tin foil hat (complete with Viking horns this time), looked at Adam oddly.

"He left last week, turned out he had been saving his pills and ODed. Gone to that other place, the one for those of us who try to end it. That's what we got told anyway. I think he got abducted."

Paul always seemed completely lucid at first, if you ignored him constantly closing the blinds and covering vents in the wall so they "couldn't be watched", but then the aliens would come into play. He placed his newest hat over his scruffy brown hair, ambling off towards the sensory room. It was mostly used by Jamie, the one who had regression issues and liked colouring, but it could be fun to bounce around in all the plushie toys and watch the light shows. According to Paul, the noise toys confused the aliens equipment, so he spent a lot of time in there just to hide.

Some dreadful soap was on TV, about DNA tests and amnesia with Australian accents. Looking at his own milk white skin, clearly _not_ inherited from his mother, he amused himself imagining some tanned Australian turning out to be his father. Laughing at nothing was standard, commonplace for the 'loony bin' they lived in. So far, Adam was the longest resident on this ward, but he had no illusions about being rehabilitated here like the others. Their problems were all upstairs, his was half in his head and half in his body.

There was no getting better from that.

He had another round of transfusions before George's visit, feeling halfway to lucid himself the night before. He woke with stomach cramps, but they were fairly mild and in his twisted mind, he was curious to learn if he had indeed been 'tripping balls' and imagined the goth girl.

Drifting absently in his own head, gnawing on his shirt collar for something to do, he finally got the "visitor" call he wanted. The girl wasn't there, but George was and his little sister looked so blatantly **thrilled** to see him he almost felt guilty for sending her away. However, the girl had said get his mother there, and Adam was crazy so he naturally went along with the total stranger. And said mother would never have come without George, so he had obviously had to see her too.

George chattered away about the last month, as though Adam hadn't had her visits stopped, talking about her birthday party and he felt a fresh wave of guilt for not having wished her a happy birthday for two years now. He could write, technically, he had post access, but he didn't think the step-daddy would have allowed the letters to reach George.

"Happy Birthday. You're getting so big."

"Unlike you. You haven't aged a day, what are they giving you in here, youth juice?"

He shrugged, wondering if it was down to his 'condition' but not really wanting to talk about the disease, the sickness that had brought about the fact he could only see her through protective screening.

Their hour was almost up before she arrived, spying the Giles 'family' around one particular booth and heading straight for them.

"Sally Giles?"

He barely caught the words through the phone speaker, but he could just about read her lips - an art form in this place. His mother turned to the girl, who looked as bored as Sally did confused. She always looked bored, from what Adam had briefly seen of this delusion he had.

He couldn't hear what his mother said, and George was clutching the phone but her body twisted around to watch the goings-on. They were starting to draw attention, though only from the people on the sane side.

He watched as the strange girl handed his mother something, he couldn't see what but a few heartbeats later, Sally backed up, the vague sound of glass smashing echoing through the receiver and both her hands bracing on the little divider.

"Who are you?"

He heard that, but the girl merely nodded, seemingly to herself, and then just like that, she was gone.

"Who was that girl?"

"No clue. Never seen her before in my life."

The lies rolled off his tongue. Well, he didn't know who she was, that much was true. But he had seen her before.

The visiting hours were cut short before anyone got too upset, except George who looked perplexed and heartbroken as she left. Feeling one tear rise, blinked away before it was really even there, Adam went back to his room, counting ceiling tiles over and over again even though he knew there were exactly 42. Six by seven, each about a metre long. Three had cracks, one had a perfectly straight line through it. He skipped dinner, and had no medication mandated at the moment - they offered him sleep tablets, but he didn't need them.

The first clink of metal, he ignored. Everyone heard things in this place. The second sort of got his attention. The third wasn't a clink, but a muffled thud near his head. As he sat up, searching for the source, a fourth clink hit the floor. Squinting in the dimmed artificial light panels built in to the wall - then covered so he couldn't smash them - he realised they were little metal screws. Raising his eyes upwards, he realised the vent on his wall was moving.

It took a minute for thay fact to really register, his mind dulled with lack of use.

That vent was some thirty feet off the ground outside, and his room had a secure door. Who the _hell_ was breaking in through it, and what on earth for?

The vent popped free and he had to bolt to the other side of his admittedly small box room, to avoid it hitting him in the head. Staring with bated breath at the hole in his wall, a sort of blur came through it and now he knew he was crazy - the goth girl was standing in front of him. He hadn't even seen her jump. And that gap was a little small.

"I'll explain everything when we aren't here. Unless you would rather stay?"

"You could be anyone. But hey, I'm crazy. Why not?"

She eyed him swaying slightly on the spot, but Adam was too busy thinking.

"Hold on. No. Not leaving. They have my picture."

The girl raised an eyebrow, tapping a heel impatiently.

"What picture?"

"Me and George. Not allowed it in here, glass frames and all that."

"Where is it?"

Still swaying and staring up at the hole - how had she fit through that? - he gestured to the door.

"Doesn't matter. Won't open til morning unless I hit the alarm. Then they'll want to know who you are. And why there's a hole in the wall, see?"

He heard a disgruntled sigh, and she repeated herself.

"Where is it?"

"Staff room. They have a special place for special items, which sounds a bit creepy if you ask me."

He blinked, and the girl was gone. The hole was still there. Was he dreaming?

"This is it, right?"

If he weren't sure he was dreaming, Adam would be worried. The girl was back, holding the picture of him and George.

"Yeah. Gimme."

He cradled the photo gently, thinking the loss in his chest hurt a bit much for a dream.

"Is that everything?"

"We don't have things here. Too dangerous."

"Good. Let's go."

Squinting at imaginary-girl, Adam started laughing.

"Go? Where? How? I'm not sure how you got in but I'm not Spiderman."

"If you hold still for one second, you'll find out."

"Nuh. Wait. What did you show my mother? She didn't like it."

He chuckled shortly again, resuming his standing-swaying and holding the picture of George close.

"I promise to explain everything. Just hold still."

"Not moving."

She rolled her eyes, clearly searching for patience.

"You're rocking back and forth like a bat in a strong wind. Hold. Still."

"Are you here to kidnap me? Are we going to a sex torture dungeon? I've only seen them on tv. I must warn you, I don't know much about sex."

"That's repulsive. Shut up and stand still."

He tried, but his leg muscles didn't want to cooperate much. Eventually he managed to stay still, almost jumping in surprise when imaginary-girl grabbed hold of him. Everything sort of went dark and his limbs felt weightless but trapped. Kind of like that sedative they gave him that made him forget how to walk and sleep, but everything felt sort of floaty.

When the darkness lifted, his legs and arms heavy and the imaginary-girl letting go of him, Adam realised his white clothes glowed in the moon. And there was a castle. He had never been this close to a castle before.

"Where are we? Other than la la land."

"Transylvania. Go on in."

Still expecting to wake up from imaginary-girl or wind up in a torture dungeon because who breaks some total stranger out of the loony bin? Adam walked through the big door. He had to be dreaming though, because no way did they go from the psych ward in London to this big castle in Transylvania. That had to be imagination...ing, right?

"Do we have time now? Who are you?"

"Ingrid. You're Adam, right?"

"You broke me out of Casa Crazy for Castle Creepy and you're not sure of my name?"

"I can take you back if you like. Or you can stop whining and we can fix you."

"We? Fix? Hey, I don't whine!"

The whole place was **huge,** smelled a bit funky (not as bad as the boys bathroom but worse than most of the food) and looked like it could do with a clean. Or twelve. Cobwebs and dust lay over almost every surface, and it looked sort of... abandoned.

"You don't live here, surely?"

"You'll get it soon enough. Through there."

That doorway led to a dining room he guessed, based on the very long table anyway. There was a weird chair at the head of it, all gilded and surprisingly clean red fabric.

"You found the mongrel then?"

"Go away Renfield."

He didn't manage to see who the voice belonged to before Ingrid scared him off, steered Adam into a seat and disappeared into the near pitch-black shadows all around. He looked down at the picture he was holding, wondering if he was ever going to see his baby sister again.

Ingrid returned, holding a bottle of something red and gloopy that she cringed at, but popped a cap off of and handed it to him.

"Tastes like crypt dust, but I'll bet you feel better after drinking it."

Well, he was about to be poisoned. This was it. At least if he was dreaming, he would wake up back in his box when this killed him.

"Bottoms up. I guess. If I die, bury me with this and don't tell George."

Clutching the photo tightly, Adam closed his eyes and took a swallow of the weird red stuff. Ingrid was right, it tasted atrocious. The second it reached his stomach, he felt... good. His head was clearer than it had been in months, and he didn't feel sick.

"Wow."

He took another swallow, then another, expecting to go light headed as he sacrificed breathing to keep drinking but he only felt better and better. The bottle was empty before he stopped, stomach almost uncomfortably full but he wasn't throwing up. It was very confusing, even for him and he was mad as a hatter. He burped, the taste even more unpleasant than before and Ingrid grimaced in disgust.

"What was that?"

"Soya blood. Personally, I can't stand it. But you can't keep real blood down, am I right?"

"Right. Wait. What?"

He gripped the empty bottle tighter. Maybe it would make a good weapon.

"I was about to say this will sound mad. But you've already got bats in the belfry, so be quiet and listen."

Adam swallowed thickly, almost sure he saw her eyes flash red before it was gone.

"You don't have porphyria. That's not what you inherited from your father. You're half vampire."

He stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. Nothing was forthcoming, so he burst out laughing anyway.

"Good one. This might be my best hallucination episode yet."

Ingrid rolled her eyes, then opened her mouth. Dream or not, she definitely didn't have **fangs** a minute ago.

"Ooooookayyyyy. Am I about to be eaten?"

"No. Idiot. We don't eat other vampires. I'll tell you what. You come look at this one thing with me, and if you still don't believe me I'll drop you back in your little madbox."

He didn't really have a lot of choice, being kidnapped and all. He deliberated for a minute, then nodded. Ingrid straightened up, then beckoned him with one finger - her nails were painted the exact shade of blood. At least. He hoped it was paint.

She led him through more damp, dark corridors, stopping in front of a huge set of doors flanked by suits of armour.

"I can't go in with you, that's not how this works. You had better leave that out here if you want it to be safe."

Adam held the picture tighter, backing away a little now.

"Look. I was supposed to wait until you came back out and were sure to tell you, but I'm your sister. Not that one. Older sister. Now hand over the picture and get in there if you want any more information."

His hands shook, but Ingrid looked mostly genuine, so he slowly extended his arm out, and she took the picture gently.

"My sister?"

"Look. It's going to be much easier when you come out of there. You're still a bit crazy at the minute. What awaits you should fix that."

When Ingrid backed away, the doors flew open and something beyond them resonated, calling to something inside him. He couldn't resist if he tried. It pulled him in.

The doors slammed behind him, and he found himself face to face with a mirror. It was _enormous,_ and this too had guards - golden faun-like men who blinked when Adam got closer.

Something was whispering, but there was nobody else in here.

"I will help you."

He looked closer at his reflection - he barely recognised himself, hollowed cheeks and deadened eyes staring back at him - but it only moved with him.

"Come closer."

Peering around just in case someone was nearby, and this was all some grand prank, he stepped closer. His reflection shifted, smirking darkly in a way he wasn't sure he was capable of. The upper lip curled, revealing Adam with his very own fangs. He pressed his thumb up to his teeth - still flat.

"Now what?"

The reflection moved independently again, raising it's hand to beckon Adam closer still. Its hand splayed over the glass, making a dull ache pulse in his chest as he remembered George. His hand moved of it's own accord, mimicking... himself, he supposed. The minute his skin touched the glass, it sort of... rippled. He didn't get any longer to consider it, because the statues grabbed him, pitching him through the glass.

It took a few minutes for his head to clear, but Ingrid had been right to an extent - he didn't feel _mad_ now. Ironic considering he was having the most bizarre trip right now, imagining he was half vampire according to the strange girl who was also his sister, and he had just gone through a mirror.

"Changing my name from Adam to Alice. If I ever escape from Wonderland."

He was talking to nobody in particular, taking stock of this mirror world. It was a little bland, old bricks and puddles. It reminded him of abandoned railway tunnels or something. It was a little disconcerting to be honest, he hadn't been totally lucid since he turned sixteen and now his head worked again. What was that about?

"Wonderland? That's new. Never thought of it like that, but then we were starting to worry you wouldn't make it here at all. So that's a wonder I suppose."

Whipping around at the sound of his own voice, Adam did a double take. There was another him. Down to the white scrubs he had on.

"We? You're me!"

"Yes and no. I'm your reflection, but I'm no mad boy in a box staring at spiders to pass the time. I'm the real you. Powerful and strong, a real vampire."

"Riiiight. And I'm the mad one. Naturally."

"Look behind you don't believe me."

Wary of turning his back on himself, then realising just how mad that sounded, he peered around. The dark wall was now a bright light, with more Adam-copies. Hundreds of them.

"What the..."

"I guess you don't know anything so I'll let you off. Most vampires have one reflection. Hi, that's me. You're special, unfortunately. The Chosen One, if you can believe that. So, you have more reflections. Hang on tight, this will be a worse trip than that tranquilizer they gave you."

The bright light glowed harsher, and suddenly all the Adam-copies converged on him at once. It _hurt,_ worse than that time when he was fourteen and thought he could fly in his sleep, and had fallen out of his bedroom window - he was lucky to only break his leg.

They kept coming, over and over and he could feel his body change. His heart **stopped** and his lungs felt weird, his teeth hurt blindingly for a few seconds, then he felt a sort of 'pop' and the pain went away. His usually shaky muscles felt stronger, firmer and his mind finally cleared properly as everything slowed, then stopped.

It was over. No more copies rushed him, and when he dared look around nothing else so much as moved. Heading back to where he 'started' in here, there was a floating pane of glass. Hoping that was the way out, he went for it. The whole world went a little wonky for a minute, but then he was on his feet and the mirror was blank when he looked.

Pressing his thumb to his teeth again, he felt a pricking sensation and looked to see a small hole in his skin. Trying again, he felt along gingerly to find he had fangs. Real, actual fangs. Whoa.

Heading over to the doors, they opened for him and he found Ingrid leant against a wall, looking oddly at the picture of Adam and George.

"How was it?"

"Weird. Am I dreaming?"

"Nope. You're a real vampire now."

He took the picture back, now certain he could never see George again. He was a monster for real now.

"Quick question -"

He was cut off by a gust of wind and a whooshing sound, which became a man. He had long hair, like, longer than Ingrid's hair, piercing blue eyes and fangs of his very own.

"So, he survived?"

"He's standing there with fangs, what do you think? Maggot brain."

"Language Ingrid!"

That was a fatherly rebuke if he had ever heard one, realising who this man may well be.

"Anyway, you had a question? I imagine you have several, actually."

"Hundreds. But first. What's the chosen one?"

-YD-

 **If I do decide to write another piece for this it'll resolve alot - how they found him and all that, but it didn't fit well in this and I don't think it was necessary? Unsure I'll add more though, this is supposed to be a one shot! (but we all know how bad I am for that).**

 ***Authors note***

 **I have taken down chapter two of this - I still have it, but the more I tried to work on this story the more I hated it, felt it didn't flow. So I'm going back to the drawing board on it, and hopefully I can return with something much better for you guys!**


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